


keep you up

by jaekyu



Category: NCT (Band), Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, M/M, One Night Stands, Rimming, Vacation, this is almost a sugar daddy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekyu/pseuds/jaekyu
Summary: Chan had hoped he might get laid on vacation. He was not, however, expecting Johnny Suh.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 18
Kudos: 155





	keep you up

**Author's Note:**

> write the fanfiction you want to see in the world. 
> 
> unbeta'd because i could not bare the thought of sending this to my beta lol

The whole night spreads out around Chan like a kaleidoscope; shards of colour bursting behind his eyelids, sensory overload, warmth and cold flowing over his skin in waves. There is smoke in his throat and his brain, clouding his thoughts, and his limbs feel equally heavy and weightless.

For a moment, Chan thinks he might just lose himself. But then Hyunjin presses up against him, from shoulder to hip, and grounds him with a whisper in his ear.

“Don’t look now,” Hyunjin says. His hand is splayed against the toned muscles of Chan’s stomach, skin exposed by the high crop of the shirt Chan’s wore to the club tonight. It flexes and the sharp edge of Hyunjin’s nails against flesh come and go. “But I think that guy at the VIP table is watching you.”

True to Hyunjin’s advice, Chan doesn’t look. Not right away. The shadows in the club are tinged around their edges with deep purple and green from the lights, bright and radioactive. Chan can feel the alcohol sing in his veins, and he thinks, not for the first time tonight, about how good he feels. Then Chan holds his breath, counts to ten, and follows Hyunjin’s line of sight to see the kind of person whose attention would be caught by him.

The eyes of the stranger, tucked into a back corner of the club, do not falter when Chan meets them. He is confident, and his gaze is intense — but not suffocatingly so. It’s just enough to root Chan in place, a moth under a pin.

Chan feels observed. He feels studied.

He’s handsome, the stranger. Chan can’t deny it. Hair swept out of his face, sharp-edged jaw, expensive clothes. He takes a sip of his drink while he watches Chan, a glint of a Rolex on his wrist, and something deep in Chan’s gut swoops and makes him feel dizzy.

Chan wonders, idly, when this stranger might have first noticed him. Was it when Chan walked in, his group of friends in tow? Maybe he had noticed Chan at the bar, leaning against the counter, ordering drinks and laughing, half-buzzed, already, from the alcohol they had all split in their hotel rooms. Maybe the handsome stranger — with one leg folded over the other and polished shoes — didn’t notice Chan until he was on the dance floor. Until the alcohol had thoroughly lowered Chan’s inhibitions, and Chan had wished Changbin luck as he tried to insert himself amongst a group of girls, and then Chan had let Hyunjin grind back against him a little, rolling his hips against him in return. They danced in a way that marked neither of them as spoken for, but suggested certain things, should the right person see them.

And, Chan supposes, at some point the right person did. And then Chan saw him in return.

Chan considers, for a moment, going over to talk to him. The handsome stranger is clearly interested, and he is comfortable with Chan knowing he is interested. Chan thinks he is probably interested in return.

He had really hoped he might get laid on this trip.

But something keeps Chan from it. Something keeps him from crossing the dance floor, keeps him from standing at the velvet rope that sections off the VIP area, keeps him from offering to do something obscene, like lick this guy’s shoes.

So Chan allows himself to be observed, and for the person who is observing to know that Chan is aware of him, and then he turns back to Hyunjin.

“Let’s get another drink,” he says into the shell of Hyunjin’s ear. Stray hairs that fall from Hyunjin’s ponytail tickle against the skin of Chan’s lips. Hyunjin turns to Chan, smiling, and nods. They each order a vodka cranberry, and then a shot, and once Chan has finished both, he turns back to look over at the VIP section, and finds his handsome stranger is gone.

That’s okay. Chan’s always been someone who’s preferred the chase.

*

It’s sweltering the next day. There is no relief from the heat, here in Spain, but the closest they get to it is sitting on the beach at the resort.

Chan wears his sunglasses and keeps his hair out of his eyes, headache pulsing at his temples. But he’s on vacation, so it’s whatever, and he double fists a water and a tequila sunrise anyway.

Hyunjin lays out on the lounging chair next to Chan on one side, drinking in sun rays, despite the fact that Chan doesn’t think he’ll get any more tan. On Chan’s other side, Jisung works diligently at his Nintendo Switch, trying to be the accomplished Pokemon Trainer he’s always dreamed of being. It’s nearly 3PM — none of them woke up before noon — and Changbin still hasn’t emerged from whichever girl’s room he managed to find his way into last night. They’ve been hanging at this same spot on the beach every day they’ve been here, though, so he’ll find them whenever he’s ready.

Chan hopes he’s enjoying himself, at the very least.

Hyunjin reaches his foot out to poke his toes into Chan’s calf. “Hyung,” he says, and his tone of voice tells Chan he’s about to ask him something, in spite of it’s faux-coyness. “I’m hungry.”

Chan hums. “Oh?” He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, squinting at Hyunjin. “And I suppose you expect me to go to the snack bar for you?”

Hyunjin smiles at the suggestion. He nods, clearly pleased with himself, and settles back into his chair without even waiting for Chan to agree or disagree. “You know what I like,” he tells Chan, waving him off. There is a hickey bloomed just below the jut of Hyunjin’s collarbone, shaped like a tulip bulb, and Chan wonders who might have put that there.

Chan orders the same things from the snack bar that he’s been ordering for the four days they’ve spent here: french fries, chicken tenders, pizza. The food on the resort is pretty Americanized, despite being Europe, and Chan relishes in the familiarity. It is, theoretically, more food than they need — but more of them always end up picking at it than originally planned for, so Chan has learned to compensate.

Chan is tapping a tip against the snack bar counter for when the server returns, considering ordering another drink, when he feels a presence at his side.

“Where are you friends?” The voice that says it is not quite as deep as Chan would have expected, but it still unfurls something in Chan’s spine that makes his toes curl. It’s the handsome stranger from the club, speaking to Chan in English. And how he had guessed Chan spoke English, he isn’t sure.

Chan takes him in from the corner of his eye. Today, the stranger’s hair is less meticulously coiffed, more voluminous and soft looking. Something you might want to run your fingers through. His features are just as sharp and handsome in broad daylight, even with his eyes hidden behind his name-brand sunglasses. His outfit is simple — gaudy tropical themed button-up, basic pair of swim shorts — but there’s something in the way this guy carries himself that tells Chan everything he’s wearing is very, very expensive. That, and the Gucci slides.

“Over there,” Chan replies, angling his body more towards the stranger. He gestures vaguely behind him to indicate, and though he can’t see the strangers eyes, Chan doesn’t think his gaze falters from Chan himself even a little.

Chan wishes he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses, so he could see exactly where this stranger's line of sight is directed.

Then, without preamble, the stranger asks, “what’s your name?”

“Chan,” he replies, then adds a question of his own. “And yours?”

The corner of the stranger’s lip quirks before he answers. “Johnny,” he says. “You and your friends are all from Korea, yeah? What’s got all of you so far from home?”

Chan shrugs. “Figured we’d take a vacation. What about you?”

“Business,” Johnny answers simply. Something about the timber of his voice gives Chan that same feeling in his gut that he had the night before, the tumbling that makes him feel dizzy.

Chan gives a short laugh. “You don’t look like you’re doing much business right now.”

Johnny’s face remains expressionless, but he steps closer. He’s taller than Chan, by a significant amount of inches. It makes the tumbling in Chan’s gut worse. Johnny grips his hip, briefly, and let’s go just as fast, as he leans over to speak, his mouth by Chan’s ear. “I have a bad habit of mixing business with pleasure.”

Johnny says it like it’s the dirtiest secret he’s ever told anyone.

Chan bites his lip. He tries to convey the perfect apex of innocence and confidence when he looks up at Johnny through his eyelashes. He’s not quite sure if he succeeds. “Is that so?”

Johnny removes his sunglasses, then, and the sudden heat of Johnny’s obvious gaze lights a million little fires all over Chan’s skin. Chan resists the urge to gulp audibly, as he watches Johnny’s eyes roam all over him. Over Chan’s face, his eyes and the slope of his nose and his _mouth_ , and then Chan watches as the gaze dips lower. Across the column of Chan’s throat, the flat planes of his bare chest, freckled from all the sun he’s gotten, the defined shape of his abs, lower still —

“Come find me in the VIP tonight,” Johnny says, eyes snapping back up to meet Chan’s. It’s phrased like a question, but it lacks the proper intonation to really be one. “Your friends can come too.”

*

When Chan finally makes it back to his friends, Hyunjin drops his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, so Chan can feel the full weight of his glare.

Chan immediately regrets not just forgoing all the food he ordered and, instead, begging Johnny to fuck him stupid in one of the dressing rooms just up the beach.

“What took you so long?” He asks, impatient as always, making grabby hands.

At some point while Chan was gone, preening under the attentions of his handsome stranger, Changbin arrived. Now he, Jisung and Felix share the lounger chair previously only occupied by Jisung, speaking in hushed tones to each other, and making very specific gestures. Chan doesn’t ask what they’re talking about.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Chan retorts. “I provided for you, didn’t I?”

“Yes. But I’m worried part of my stomach might have started consuming itself in your absence,” Hyunjin reaches into the pizza box, pulling out two slices. “Also, I’m way too gay to be subjected to conversations involving those three.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Hyunjin,” he chastises. “All your friends also like men.”

“Not enough,” Hyunjin shakes his head, chewing robotically on his pizza, gazing dramatically at the expanse of the ocean. “Not nearly enough, hyung.”

Barely ten minutes have passed (and yet, most of the food is already gone) when a waiter arrives. He’s carrying a drink tray, balancing enough shot glasses full of tequila for each one of them, a salt shaker, and a small bowl of cut limes.

“We didn’t order those,” Felix tells him around a mouthful of chicken.

“Already taken care of,” the waiter explains. “From the gentleman at the bar earlier,” and when he says that, he looks right at Chan.

All of Chan’s friends turn to look at him then, too. Chan, instead, turns to look around himself. He half-expects, as he scans over the area, to find Johnny watching him. Watching Chan, observing him, studying him.

But Chan doesn’t find him among the crowd. And then — and only then — does Chan allow the corner of his mouth to upturn into a smirk.

*

The night is laced with a heat that does not find it’s source with the sun, but rather from somewhere less tangible.

Chan feels a little weird, returning to the club, marching right up to the VIP section. It feels weird, when the bouncer stops Chan and his friends, and all Chan needs to say to be let through is, “I’m here to see Johnny,” in the most confident voice he can manage.

Chan didn’t wear the crop top tonight. As much as he likes it — the soft black silk, the way it cinches his waist, emphasizes the curve of it into his hips, exposes the line of his boxers, draws people's attention — he didn’t think it would be appropriate for this crowd. Instead, Chan has elected to dress — well, he wouldn’t say he dressed _modestly_ , not by any stretch of the imagination. His shirt is too tight to be modest; and though it’s not cropped, it exposes the bare skin of Chan’s waist when he lifts his arms. His jeans hug the curve of his ass well. So no, not modest, but much more modest than the crop top.

He’s also shaved, and put on his expensive cologne, and took a very long shower, of which he spent ten minutes considering the merits of fingering himself, just a little, to remind him of the stretch, before deciding against it.

After all, he’s, like, ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s getting laid tonight.

God, he really hopes he’s getting laid tonight.

When Johnny catches sight of Chan — all his friends in tow, just like they had come through the doors of the club the night before — for the first time, there’s something in his expression that makes Chan feel like he’s just strolled right into a wolf’s den. Uncaring of his own well-being, begging to be devoured.

Johnny is surrounded by people Chan would never have the experience to be able to recognize. Chan wonders if they are business partners, or colleagues, or friends, or some weird hybrid of all three. Johnny whispers into the ear of the person sitting beside him, and, suddenly, the seat previously occupied is vacant, and Chan is immediately welcomed to fill the space.

“You look nice,” is the first thing Johnny says to Chan, breath hot against Chan’s ear. He needs to lean close, so that Chan can hear him over the music, and he puts a hand on Chan’s wrist when he does. Chan could not find it in him to mind any less. “Did you dress up just for me?”

“Maybe,” Chan plays coy. “Why? Do you like it that much?”

Johnny hums. He leans away, just a little, to give Chan a proper, long and lingering, once over. “I like it very much,” he finally answers, coming back close enough that Chan can hear him. The hand around Chan’s wrist is firmer now. “Though, I will say that I miss the crop top a little bit. It suits you.”

“I didn’t think it would be very appropriate,” Chan explains. “What with all your friends around.” His voice drips innuendo like honey, sweet and sticky.

Johnny takes a pause, then, to watch Chan’s face. Chan matches the unwavering eye contact, keeps his face placid, despite the pin pricks of shock Johnny ignites inside of all of his nerves. Chan feels the fingers around his wrist flex, briefly, and then loosen again. “That was probably a good call,” Johnny agrees. “But I wanted to make sure you knew that I liked the way you looked in that. Very, very much.”

Chan flushes. He convinces himself, in this dark corner of the club, that Johnny can’t see the red in his face.

They talk. Despite the fact that Chan is under no false pretenses of what’s going on here — he’s going to get _fucked_ , he’s going to get laid out on an expensive bed and he’s going to go stupid on a dick, no one is asking for anyone’s hand in marriage — Johnny asks thoughtful questions and seems genuinely intrigued to know Chan’s answers.

It’s pretty cool, it turns out, that Johnny’s a nice guy. In addition to being stupidly hot.

“How long have you been living in Korea?” Johnny asks. “I only ask because of —”

“The accent,” Chan finishes for him. “Honestly, I’ve lived in Korea for awhile. Almost ten years, I think. Felix always says I’m losing my accent, but I guess that’s harder to tell if you’re not from Australia.”

“I like it,” Johnny says. “Like the top, it suits you.”

Johnny offers to get Chan another drink, then. When he stands to wave a waitress over, Chan takes stock of his friends. Despite the way Chan and his friends do not tend to fit with this crowd, all of Johnny’s friends seem nice, just like him. Or, at least, they’re nice enough to entertain them all with conversation. Felix has charmed this one guy, in particular, but that’s Felix. That’s what he does. Changbin and Jisung seem to be recounting a story in tandem, and Chan can’t imagine how much they are exaggerating. Hyunjin, his conversation partner briefly distracted, is the only one who notices Chan surveying them. He quirks his eyebrow, jerks his head towards Johnny, and then smirks. Chan waves him off, even if Hyunjin’s train of thought is on exactly the right track.

When Johnny returns, he hands Chan his drink, and while Chan is taking a long, big gulp of it, Johnny puts his hand high up on Chan’s thigh.

God. Yes. The heat and weight of Johnny’s grip is enough to have Chan feel the telltale slow-moving lava of arousal in his gut.

Chan wonders how Johnny might have described him to all his friends. When they asked, did Johnny tell them all he wanted to fuck him? Does Johnny do this often? Chan isn’t sure which option excites him more; that this just might be par for the course for a week in Mallorca for Johnny, or that Chan might be the exception to some rule.

Chan puts his drink down on the glass table in the center of their crowd and realizes, all of sudden, that he is not drunk, but he is the exact level of tipsy that makes words tumble from his mouth much easier.

He puts himself into Johnny’s space — not just his mouth by his ear to speak to him, but Chan’s entire front pressed into Johnny’s side, leaning into the touch on his thigh.

And then, he says, probably not nearly as quiet he should be, “you’re going to fuck me tonight, yeah?”

Johnny’s expression remains stony, but Chan feels the shiver that runs through him and thinks — maybe, just maybe — he hears a soft groan escape from the slight part in Johnny’s lips.

Johnny grips Chan’s thigh, hard, and this time he doesn’t let go after just a moment. “Is that what you want, Chan?”

“Yes,” Chan responds without hesitation, nodding empathetically and squirming underneath Johnny’s harsh grip on him.

Johnny does something unexpected, then: he surges forward, capturing Chan’s mouth in a kiss. Chan makes a small whimper of surprise, but then his brain is catching up with what’s going on around him, and he returns Johnny’s kiss with equal fervor.

It’s not as fierce as Chan would like it to be, more lips and tongue than the teeth Chan craves, but it’s good. It’s good, and there’s people around them, and this is not the end of Chan’s evening by any means, so certain things can wait. Johnny tastes like top-shelf bourbon, with something woodsier, more natural, hiding below it. They push and pull at each other in equal measures; Chan will surge forward again, resting more weight on top of Johnny, when Johnny tries to pull away, and Johnny will dig his fingers into the muscles of Chan’s thigh, _hard_ , just to hear his breath hitch in his throat.

Chan is not sure how long they kiss for. Probably too long to be considered appropriate in public. He feels shy when Johnny finally separates them, his big hand posed against Chan’s chest, pushing gently.

“Baby,” Johnny says quietly, and Chan fucking _melts_ at the pet name. Like, he’s going to turn into goop in Johnny’s grip if Johnny calls him that again. “Save some of that for later, okay?”

Chan bites his lip. He nods, knowing the glint of mischief in his eyes must be obvious.

Chan half-expects for Johnny to take back to his room right then, but he doesn’t. At first, Chan feels a little bit disappointed, but the longer he sits with his arousal — the longer it spreads it’s tendrils of warmth outwards, fills up all spaces in Chan until he might burst — the better it feels.

There’s something to that; something about kissing Johnny, hot and heavy and obvious in it’s intentions, and then pulling themselves away from each other, Johnny returning to the picture of poise, as if nothing had happened, that turns Chan’s expectations for tonight up from ten to eleven. Creating a whole new metric on the scale.

*

In the end, Chan is forced to wait, but he is not forced to wait very long.

Chan and his friends had showed up at the club around 10PM, and it’s just before midnight when Johnny asks, “do you want to come back to my room with me, baby?”

Who is Chan to deny a request like that?

He tells his friends goodnight, and to not expect him back, and then Hyunjin grips his wrist, smiling, and says, “have fun. Let us know if you need anything.”

Johnny takes Chan to a corner of the resort Chan’s never seen before, where, Chan assumes, all the people with their own private rooms here stay. Away from all the rowdy kids who took a week off from their minimum wage jobs to come to Europe and get day-drunk on the beach. It’s quieter on this corner of the resort, and the lights that light the way are not as bright, and the decorations are more expensive and meticulously chosen.

_Oh_ , Chan thinks to himself, watching Johnny swipe his key-card to open a beachfront villa that looks huge enough from the outside, and looks even bigger on the inside. _So he’s got money-money_.

“Do you do this a lot?” Chan asks, sliding out of his slip-on shoes, because he’s genuinely curious.

Johnny is shrugging off his suit jacket. Underneath, he wears a simple v-neck t-shirt, cut to expose his collarbones and sternum. “What do you mean?” Johnny replies. “Are you asking if I take pretty boys back to my room all the time?”

Chan manages to keep himself from flushing at being called pretty. “Just curious,” he shrugs.

“Why?” Johnny is smiling, the way you might imagine the snake in the garden of Eden might have smiled. “Do you want to know if you’re special? Or would you rather think about how many boys have stood exactly where you are, and all the things I might have done to them while they were in here with me?”

And, yeah, Chan can’t keep his face from heating up at that. He’s still not sure which he would prefer, though. There’s a different appeal to each of the options. “Either one works for me,” he finally answers.

“Then I would say that I’ve had a very respectable amount of boys in this room with me,” Johnny admits. “And girls sometimes, too. But it’s been a little while since the last one.”

It’s the perfect answer. The exact answer Chan hadn’t even known he wanted. Like Johnny plucked it right out of his subconscious.

At some point, Chan ends up half-sitting on the table in Johnny’s entrance, trying to keep from knocking, what Chan assumes is a very expensive vase onto the ground, while Johnny puts his mouth all over Chan’s throat. He’s using the teeth Chan was missing when they were kissing in the club, running them across the skin that shields Chan’s carotid artery, biting into the spot where Chan’s neck meets his chest, putting his tongue against the curve of Chan’s jaw. It’s good, it’s so good. Chan fists his hands into the fabric of Johnny’s shirts at his shoulders, and wills himself to not roll his hips upwards, less he moves the table beneath him too much, and ruins the mood by breaking something.

Chan is half-hard when Johnny decides to pull away from his very, very thorough work on Chan’s neck. Chan whines at the loss, reedy and breathless. Johnny kisses him, briefly, in what seems like it might be a slight apology. But then he steps back from Chan, lets him slide off the table, and then grips his hand.

“I have a private pool in the back,” Johnny says, tugging Chan along.

And maybe Chan’s already a little dick stupid, despite the fact he hasn’t even really properly touched any dick yet, because he says, quietly, “I didn’t bring any swimming trunks.”

Johnny laughs. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

*

It’s still warm outside. Even with the sun long-gone, Chan can still feel it’s heat, trapped in the wood of the deck that surrounds the pool.

It is, quite frankly, pretty absurd for Johnny to have this pool, when they could walk about twenty feet and just step right into the ocean.

“Hmm, but the ocean isn’t heated,” Johnny explains when Chan says this aloud. “And there’s more light over here, y’know? I think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to have my pool.”

Chan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. And then all rational thought swiftly vacates his head, because Johnny pulls his shirt over his head one-handed, and Chan is suddenly confronted with _so much_ bare skin.

He drinks his fill, because why not? Johnny’s seen Chan without a shirt, but Chan hasn’t seen Johnny. They have similar builds, similar muscle structure, but where Chan has a little more width, Johnny has length. With all this exposed skin he looks like he might go on for miles, like there might be enough of him for about a dozen people to indulge.

Lucky for Chan, he’s the only person here right now.

And then Johnny drops his pants and steps out of them and — well, fuck. Fuck, his dick is big. Of course Chan looks. That’s what he’s here for. No one here is under any impression that Chan isn’t here for Johnny’s dick. Johnny probably expects him to look. Probably _wants_ him to look, wants him to anticipate it, wants Chan to imagine it. The stretch of it, in his mouth and in his —

Chan is so lost in his own thoughts he barely registers Johnny swiftly diving into the pool, and it’s only after Johnny surfaces again that Chan realizes he’s still fully-clothed himself.

“Baby,” Johnny calls, pushing his wet hair back and off of his face. “Take your clothes off and get into the pool.

Chan does as he’s told. He knows Johnny is watching him while he strips, but Chan can’t watch himself be watched, so he keeps his eyes downcast. He makes quick work of his shirt, but that’s nothing new to Johnny, and Chan does his best to ignore the slight nervousness in his movements when he removes his pants.

“Oh, baby,” Johnny’s voice forces Chan to lift his gaze and meet his eyes. He resists the urge to cover himself — he is proud of his body, of course, but something about such an overt display makes him a little shy. There are parts of himself he is used to exposing, to tease with, and this is not one of them. Johnny approaches the edge of the pool slowly, rippling the water delicately as he comes. “You’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”

Chan wants to bury his face in his hand. He resists.

“Come in here with me.”

Chan is much less graceful entering the pool than Johnny was. He tries to be sexy, he really does, but he’s way too fumbly and he’s short and the edge of the pool is _slippery_ , okay? And he’s also, like, ridiculously turned on, so it’s hard for him to really process the best way to go about sliding into the water. But he gets there, eventually, and Johnny is smiling at him when Chan is finally settled, so whatever.

“The water is nice,” Chan says, for lack of anything better to say.

“See?” Johnny replies. “Imagine how much colder you’d be in the ocean. And if we were in the ocean, I couldn’t do this.”

By ‘this’, Chan is pretty sure Johnny means pinning him up against the wall of the pool, grit digging into Chan’s back. Johnny reaches for Chan below the water, his hands coming to curl around Chan’s hips. Johnny pulls himself closer, and Chan let’s him.

“When did you first notice me?” Chan asks, his own curiosity moving his mouth before he can temper it again. “Last night, in the club, when did you first notice me?”

“On the dance floor,” Johnny answers. “You were dancing with your friend.”

“Hyunjin,” Chan supplies. “People always notice him first.”

Johnny hums. He presses his nose just below Chan’s ear. “But I noticed you first.”

Chan thinks he might feel a little cold, if it weren’t for all the heat trapped underneath his skin. “And what did you think of me?”

“I thought,” Johnny presses a kiss to the same spot below Chan’s ear. “I thought that you were so gorgeous, baby. And that you looked like someone who would know what they wanted. That you looked like someone who deserved to be spoiled.”

“And do I?” Chan finds confidence in Johnny’s praise. “Do I deserve to be spoiled?”

Johnny does not answer with words. Instead, he kisses Chan, on the mouth this time. It is a kiss more aggressive than the one from the club, but it is slower and more meticulous than the kisses Johnny had been planting all over Chan’s throat in the entrance. Chan melts into it, his arms coming around Johnny’s shoulders, his fingers threading themselves into Johnny’s hair. He does feel spoiled, he thinks, as the sound of the waves crash in the distance, and the sound of his and Johnny’s breathing between kisses grows more laboured.

And maybe being spoiled is something Chan could get used to.

*

They spend a lot of time kissing in the pool. It’s so easy to get lost in all the blue of the water, to feel time slip away from them as they dedicate more and more of it to each other.

Chan’s hands get all pruned-up, and he’s still soaking wet when Johnny takes him inside, lays him out on his bed, and eats him out.

Chan comes apart at the seams. With Johnny’s tongue in his asshole, he can barely find the voice to say single words, let alone string together coherent sentences. He feels a little obscene, with his back curved and his ass in the air and his fingers clutching the sheets, but it feels so close to oblivion Chan can’t find it in himself to care.

When Johnny pushes a finger in alongside his tongue, Chan thinks he might pass out, and he moans so low and deep he feels it vibrate through his entire chest. It happened so fast, one minute they were kissing in the pool, then Johnny was saying they should go inside, and he didn’t even close the big french doors that lead from the bedroom to the pool before he —

Chan moans again, squirming against the grip Johnny’s big hand has on his ass. Johnny shushes him, moving to press kisses to the small of Chan’s back, his finger still inside of him.

“Are you close, baby?” Johnny asks. From where his face is smashed into the pillows, Chan manages to turn his head enough to catch Johnny’s eyes. His own gaze feels frantic, and he can’t imagine what his face must look like right now, but Johnny is the picture of composure. There is heat in his eyes, but it is carefully contained.

Chan kind of makes him want to lose it.

“Yeah,” Chan admits. He rolls his hips a little, seeking friction that is not within reach, suddenly very aware of how hard he is. “Yeah. Almost. _Please_.”

“Mhm,” Johnny hums, mouth pressed to Chan’s skin again. “Not yet.”

Chan whines, but part of him can feel the excitement that fills him at the thought. This will not be quick. This will be slow, and meticulous, and good, and Chan isn’t even sure how he’ll make it to the end.

Chan lets Johnny flip him, so he’s flat on his back against Johnny’s soft, expensive sheets. He can feel the dampness of them; they’ll have to be cleaned after this. What a chore that might be, for Johnny to call a maid to the room to strip and remake the bed. Johnny tugs Chan closer, and so Chan wraps his legs around Johnny’s waist. There is a brief moment of relief; a brief meeting of skin to skin, Chan’s cock dragging across Johnny’s stomach, Johnny’s cock resting against Chan’s thigh, and even just _that_ is enough to send a shiver all throughout Chan’s body.

Johnny’s hands start at Chan’s hips, before they travel upwards, along his flanks, following the curves of Chan’s body. “You’re so gorgeous, baby,” Johnny praises, hands roaming all over Chan, too much for Chan’s senses to even properly focus on. “All naked and wet just for me.”

Chan wishes he could respond, could say something sexy. Maybe he’d say something like _yours to do whatever you want with_ , or, maybe something closer to the point, _can’t wait to feel your big dick inside of me_. But the words escape him, lost in the haze of pleasure and lust in his brain.

Johnny leans over, bracketing Chan’s body between his arms, and presses his tongue against Chan’s left nipple. Chan presses his chest up into it. Even when Johnny pulls away, Chan chases after the pressure, whining just a little. It returns, a moment later, against Chan’s other nipple, and Chan sighs.

How fucking unbelievable, that Chan would end up here; spread out on some rich businesman’s sheets on a resort in Spain, about to have his goddamn guts rearranged.

He wonders, idly, how many stamps Johnny might have in his passport. How it might feel for Chan to be laid on the deck of a boat in the sun, drinking expensive champagne, living a life thoroughly above his pay grade.

Johnny spends a lot of time pressing his tongue and teeth and mouth all over Chan’s chest, undeterred by the way Chan’s unsteady, laboured breaths. He keeps touching Chan everywhere except for where Chan wants it the most, where he needs it, and Chan feels half useless, just lying here on his back and waiting to be pulled apart.

So, somehow, through the haze of his brain, he reaches down and threads his fingers through Johnny’s hair, and pulls on him gently, getting him up and away from Chan’s chest.

“What is it, baby,” and god, will Johnny ever stop calling him that? Each time he does it hits Chan like he’s just stuck his finger into an electrical socket.

“Wanna — wanna suck you off,” Chan manages.

Johnny raises his eyebrows, smirking after a moment. “You wanna choke on my cock, sweetheart? Is that it?”

And, apparently, those words Chan expunged from himself earlier were all the ones he had, because he can’t even reply to Johnny with _yes_. All he can do is nod, eyes screwed shut at the way Johnny’s cock might hit the back of his throat.

It only takes a second to maneuver themselves into a better position: Johnny sat up against the headboard, a few pillows behind him, and Chan lying between his legs. Chan is up close and personal with Johnny’s dick now and, okay, maybe it’s a perspective thing, but it definitely seems _huge_ this close up. Like, Chan has a big dick. He’s been told multiple times, by multiple people, but Johnny? Johnny is bigger. Not by much. But he’s bigger.

He’s definitely got the biggest dick Chan’s ever put in his mouth. And when he finally fucks Chan open on his cock, it’ll be the biggest thing Chan’s ever had in his ass too.

Chan starts slow; he presses open-mouthed kisses along the length of Johnny’s cock, held gently in his grasp. Johnny is quiet, but he lets out this little breath at the first contact of the wet heat of Chan’s mouth on his skin. Chan lets it fuel him, lets it spur him on. He licks Johnny’s cock from root to tip, then pays special attention to just the head, sealing his mouth over it and tonguing the slit. Johnny’s hand comes up to cup the back of Chan’s neck, kneading gently. He’s not pushing Chan down, he’s letting Chan do as he pleases, but, occasionally, when Chan moves his tongue just right, he can feel the shape of the crescent moons of Johnny’s nails dig into his skin.

To say Chan is intimidated by the size of Johnny’s dick, specifically in the context of it sliding into his throat, would be an understatement. So he takes it in stride, a little bit at a time. He isn’t in a hurry, and judging from how the night has been going so far, neither is Johnny. So Chan relaxes, and maybe he wiggles his ass a little, just while he gets settled, puts on a little show for Johnny, and he breathes through his nose and lets Johnny’s cock slide in deeper and deeper.

He’s a little past halfway down (an accomplishment all on it’s own) the first time he gags. Johnny groans, animalistic, but his hand is still gentle when it pets the hair at the base of Chan’s skull.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he says, and Chan looks up at him through his eyelashes, mouth still around his cock. “How about you try again?”

Chan would nod if he could. Instead, he does as he’s told. This time, Johnny’s cock gets a little bit further, before Chan is coughing a little, taking in a harsh breath through his nose.

“That’s good,” Johnny breathes. “That’s so good. Your mouth is so good. Made just for cock, isn’t it?”

Chan moans around Johnny’s length, and Johnny sucks a quick breath in through clenched teeth. At this point, Chan is rutting against the mattress, wound tight and desperate for any kind of friction, and he wants to gag on Johnny’s cock again so bad.

So he does. And this time, he pushes past the initial discomfort, and takes Johnny deeper still. Johnny moans again, a little more unhinged this time, and Chan feels his fingers grip into his hair properly. He smirks the best he can around the cock in his mouth, content to have unspooled Johnny, even just a little bit.

Chan goes at it in earnest, now. Slides almost all the way off of Johnny’s cock and then takes him back down just as far, obscene noises filling the room as he does, spit leaking out of the corners of Chan’s mouth. He wishes he could make it all the way down Johnny’s cock, but his anatomy simply won’t allow him — not without practice — so Chan compensates with his hand. The noises Johnny makes become more frequent, less controlled, and Chan preens under the positive reinforcement, even if Johnny might not be fully aware he’s giving it.

Chan’s jaw is just starting to really ache when Johnny fumbles at his shoulders, pushing him off of his dick. “That’s enough, baby, that’s enough,” Johnny tells him.

Chan pouts, Johnny’s cock still in his line of sight. Rock hard and glistening with spit and precome and maybe the best meal Chan’s ever had, and Chan would have really, really liked to swallow all of Johnny’s come for him.

“Baby,” Johnny breathes, sounding nearly wrecked, and Chan realizes he said that last part out loud. “I’d love for you to do that for me. But I wanna fuck you, okay?”

Okay, Chan thinks. Okay, that’s a good reason. He nods, and then he sits up on his knees, leaning forward to capture Johnny’s mouth in a messy kiss. Chan thinks about how he must taste — a mix of himself and Johnny — and the thought makes him bite into Johnny’s bottom lip, desperate for an outlet for how turned on he is.

Like everything else that’s happened tonight: Johnny does not rush opening Chan up with his fingers. He let’s Chan’s untouched cock leak precome all of his stomach while he takes it one finger at a time, pressing relentlessly against Chan’s prostate during some moments, and purposefully ignoring it during others. Chan ends up flushed from head to toe, but especially all over his face and chest.

Johnny sucks a hickey into Chan’s hip as he opens him up, and then sucks a few extra across Chan’s thighs.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Chan tells him, when Johnny’s three fingers deep inside of him and scissoring the same he has been for what feels like hours.

“Not before I fuck you into the mattress, baby,” Johnny replies, and then in one fluid movemment, one that Chan barely registers, Johnny pulls his fingers out and pushes one of Chan’s legs up onto his shoulder. “Do you think you’re ready for that?”

“Yes,” the word drops from Chan’s mouth without him even having to think about it.

“How about you ask nicely for it, then, huh?” Johnny taunts. He leans over, pushing so Chan’s own knee is almost by his ear, and it makes it so Johnny’s cock slides into the cleft of Chan’s ass. So close and yet so fucking far. “Beg me for a little bit, baby.”

Chan shudders. Suddenly, his tongue feels swollen and useless. Suddenly, every sound his vocal chords might make get stuck in his throat. Suddenly, Chan’s brain can’t remember a single word he’s ever learned.

“Go on,” Johnny says, rolling his hips. The head of his cock nudges against Chan’s hole. “I’m waiting.”

Chan’s brain finally catches up with Johnny’s command, and Chan starts rambling off the nastiest shit he may have ever said to someone in bed. “ _Please_ ,” he begs. “Please, fuck me, Johnny, please. I want you to fuck me open with your big cock. Want you to fill me up so badly. _Please_.”

Johnny smiles. He pushes the hair off of Chan’s forehead, kisses him, and just as he’s saying, “good job, baby,” he’s pushing himself inside of Chan.

Chan basically fucking screams, but he can’t be embarrased about it after the way this entire night has been winding up. Of course he screams when Johnny finally puts his huge cock in the one place Chan’s been thinking about it being since yesterday.

“That good, huh?” Johnny says, smug, and Chan doesn’t dignify him with an answer. But he thinks the sound he makes when Johnny rolls his hip, pushing himself into Chan even deeper, might just be enough of an answer on it’s own.

Johnny works Chan open on his cock the same way he worked him open on his fingers. He pulls himself out slowly, pushes back in, taking his time. Like he’s getting Chan ready for when he decides to fuck him proper, to rail him into the mattress until Chan can’t remember his own name.

“Do you always fuck like this?” Chan asks, because he can’t imagine Johnny can always go for hours like this. Can’t imagine he’s always so carefully buttoned-up, so carefully reined in, that he can so thoroughly always take his bed partners apart like this.

Johnny hums, thrusting back into Chan particularly roughly. He nuzzles against Chan’s cheek, nipping at his jaw. “Not always,” he replies. “Just with the prettiest boys that end up in my bed.”

Chan turns his head to press his mouth against Johnny’s for the compliment. For a moment, Johnny stills inside of Chan, kissing him thoroughly, all tongue and teeth. It feels almost romantic, as if this isn’t just a random hook-up while Chan’s on vacation. Chan does not allow himself to entertain the thought too long, but he does entertain it a little bit.

“Should I make you come now?” Johnny pulls away a little bit to ask. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

And for the first time since Johnny put his tongue in Chan’s ass, Chan manages to say something a little bit mischievous. “You said I looked like I should be spoiled, didn’t you?”

That does it. Johnny abandons the previously established rhythm in favour of erratic thrusts, pounding into Chan with reckless abandon. Chan falls apart. He is unable to keep a single, embarrassing, lewd noise inside of him. He feels the way his back keeps arching, the way his thighs tremble, his orgasm cresting inside of him like a slow-building wave.

“Make yourself come for me,” Johnny commands, voice thin. Chan can hear the way he’s exerting himself, fucking into Chan without pause. Chan takes the hint: he fumbles a hand to his own leaking dick, jerking himself off. He tries to match Johnny’s rhythm, for a second, but they are both so frantic it just isn’t feasible. Chan just goes at it messily, instead, chasing his own release. “That’s so good, baby. You’re so good. Gonna come for me? I’m gonna make you come, aren’t I? Every part of you was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Your mouth, your ass, all of it.”

Chan moans, long and whiny, and when he comes he thinks that it’s a damn shame this is the only time he’s going to do it for Johnny.

Seeing Chan come must be what pushes Johnny over the edge, because not thirty seconds after Chan paints his own stomach in his own come, Johnny is pulling out of Chan to add to the mess. It only takes a second, before Johnny mixes his own come with Chan’s against Chan’s skin, and Chan can’t help the little whimper that escapes him at the sight.

Yeah. It really is a damn shame.

*

Johnny makes Chan get up (once he has proper control of his jelly legs again, obviously) and shower after they’ve both caught their breaths. Chan agrees, because nothing is more annoying than the feeling of drying come against your skin.

Johnny’s shower is one of those rainfall ones and Chan relishes in the heat of the water, the way it cleans him of sweat and come and leftover chlorine, and loosens his tightened muscles.

When he emerges, the sheets on the bed have been changed. Johnny is sitting amongst the pillows, grey sweatpants on, frowning at something on his phone.

Chan pauses. He thinks he should probably pick up his clothes, get dressed, go back to his own room. He wonders how late it is. How obvious will it be, what Chan had been doing not twenty minutes before, when he ends up taking the walk from one side of the resort to the other?

Before Chan can say, _I should get going_ , though, Johnny drops his phone and says, instead, “you should stay.”

And, well, Johnny’s sheets are so soft. And maybe he’ll order room service in the morning, and maybe they’ll fuck again once they wake up, so who is Chan to deny him?

Once they’re settled into bed, Johnny kisses the spot just below Chan’s eye. “Y’know,” he says. “My business is based in the States, but one of my income properties is in Korea. So I go there a fair amount.”

“Oh?” Chan feels his heart speed up, just a little bit.

Johnny nods. “So, tomorrow, after I get you some breakfast and fuck you again, you should leave me your number. So I can let you know the next time I’m in town.”

Chan bites his lip and nods, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from tilting upwards into a half-smile.

**Author's Note:**

> and that's how bang chan got himself a sugar daddy. title from [34 + 35](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6_iQvaIjXw) by ariana grande.
> 
> [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/bIoodbuzzed), [personal twitter](https://twitter.com/sieepwellbeast), [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/bloodbuzzed)


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